Silver Lies (34 page)

Abe nodded, as if it was exactly what he’d expected. Inez stood, and Cooke popped up from behind his desk, suddenly obsequious, and ushered them out. "We won’t raise any alarms until we know the situation. I’m as concerned about this as you are."

Back on the street, Abe removed his hat and wiped his brow with his sleeve. "So much for bein’ good citizens."

Inez pulled her cloak close as the cold curled about her long skirts. "Well, what’s the worst that can happen? Say the fifties are bogus. How many did we have? Twenty?"

She fastened her cloak, snapping each button through its hole. "What I
don’t
understand is Cooke’s reception. The minute I mentioned counterfeit, I got the distinct feeling he held us at least partially responsible. Like we were common thieves. Criminals."

"Come on, Inez, this ain’t the first time we’ve tangled with counterfeit. At least this time, we’re on the side of the law."

Inez froze on the last button at her throat. "What?!"

Abe was scrubbing his hair, looking at the busy intersection, distracted.

At her exclamation, he volleyed back a look of surprise to match her own. "What do you mean ‘what’? Don’t tell me you didn’t know what Mark and I were doin’ in New York when you two met. There I was, haulin’ coney all over upstate, while he was waltzin’ you out the back door of your daddy’s home."

Brown eyes met hazel. A strange look descended on Abe’s

face, just as the bottom of Inez’s stomach dropped out. "Damn." He dropped his hat into place. "Inez—" She seized his arm. "Not here." Pedestrians flowed around

When Inez and Abe entered the saloon, Useless and Llewellyn stood heads together. Llewellyn straightened up as a blast of cold air brought in the two saloon owners.

"Mrs. Stannert, what do you think?" He gestured toward a painted army of headless angels with flaming silver swords. "All ready for the faces."

"Not right now." With hardly a glance at the painting, she started toward the stairs with Abe beside her.

They didn’t exchange a word until they were seated in the office, Inez at the desk, Abe on the overstuffed loveseat.

Inez spoke first. "Mark never mentioned being involved in counterfeit. Abe,
you
never told me."

Abe sighed, looking older than his forty-five years. "All this time, I thought you knew."

She leaned forward. "Tell me."

"After the War, Mark and me rambled up and down the coast, playin’ cards, bettin’ at races. When our luck ran bad, we carried boodle for a couple coney brokers, mostly distributin’, sometimes shovin’. Last time was New York. That’s when he met you, at some high society party, right? Well, while you two were makin’ eyes at each other, I was hoofin’ bogus bills upstate." He rubbed his eyes. "Until I got caught."

"You got caught?" She stared at Abe’s face. A face she thought she knew as well as her own. "But I remember meeting you after…"
After I eloped.

"Yep. I was lucky enough to get caught by a marshal who wasn’t averse to takin’ money, good or bad, and lookin’ the other way. Just like local law around here." Abe hiked his head in the direction of the city marshal’s office. "Anyhow, I gave him a couple names and handed over the boodle. He turned his back long enough for me to leave town. That and your daddy gave us all plenty reason to head West."

Inez leaned an elbow on the desk and looked down at the framed photograph of her son. She couldn’t stand the sight of his innocent face. She closed the photocase and pushed it into a pigeonhole.

"I had no idea, Abe."

Abe exhaled hard. "The only way you could of not known was if you didn’t want to. Mark and I, we talked about the old times, the coney gangs, the shovin’. If you didn’t hear, it was because you turned a deaf ear."

"But, counterfeiting. That’s illegal!"

"Inez, come on." He sounded exasperated now. "Even us three weren’t always on the right side of the law. Remember New Orleans? St. Joe? Hell, what about Dodge, that business at the Lone Star—"

"Stop." She looked out the windows at the mountains.

"You dealin’ seconds under Bat Masterson’s nose. Damn near gave me a heart attack. I mean, he was runnin’ the place and undersheriff of Ford County, no less. You might of pulled the wool over those cowboys’ eyes, but I still believe he was on to your shenanigans. Think he just let it slide, since you were smilin’ sweet at him and he was supplyin’ the brandy. Not to mention later that night, when you both disappeared—"

Inez rounded on him ferociously. "I said
stop!
"

"Look, I’m not layin’ blame. I’m just sayin’ you didn’t mind livin’ life on the edge of the law while we were on the move. Then, we got here and stopped movin’. Got the saloon. You and Mark started a family." Abe shook his head. "Everything changed."

Inez stared at the business ledger on the desk and forced her thoughts back to the present, away from the Lone Star Dancehall and Bat Masterson. She could not, in good conscience, enter concrete numbers in the deposit and profit columns until she heard back from Cooke.
What a mess.

She drummed her fingers on the ledger. "Well, what difference could all that coney business make now. It was ten years ago. I can’t imagine Cooke or anyone else in Leadville knows."

Abe sat back. "You’re right, it was long ago. But Cooke did give us the cold shoulder. And him sayin’ he might, might not get the Treasury or Secret Service involved. That’s bull. No banker’s gonna sit on a pile of coney. He’s got to notify the government. I don’t like this a-tall."

I don’t like it either.
Cold fingers slid up her spine. "Abe, does the name Frank Vintree mean anything to you?" Abe’s brow furrowed. "Vintree. Jesus, that was Philadelphia. Big-time coney ring. Where’d you hear about him?"

Vintree. Philadelphia. Sands.
And there was another connection, one she couldn’t remember. Something else about Philadelphia. A measure still missing, the tune half done.

Abe waited for her response. She realized, having said that much, she couldn’t very well wiggle out of answering. Inez took a deep breath to overcome her reluctance at betraying what felt like a confidence. Or a confession. "Reverend Sands said he knew Vintree after the War. Briefly."

Abe grunted. "I suspected somethin’ but wouldn’t’ve picked him as a coney man. Don’t it strike you mighty strange that all this comes up and your reverend admits he was mixed up with a coney ring?"

"No stranger than finding out my husband and my business partner, both people I thought I knew fairly well, were dropping counterfeit money up and down the East Coast. Perhaps at the same time as Sands."

"Let’s not fight about it," said Abe tersely. "The big question is, were we just unlucky or were we targeted?"

"Targeted?"

"Saloons are a good place to pass bad bills. Lots of money changes hands. No one looks too close. Sometimes, the saloon owners are part of it."

"Not us." Inez was indignant.

"Yeah, but Cooke’s suspicious. Maybe someone wants it that way."

"Who? Why?"

Abe spread his hands on his knees. "Who’d profit if we went down for passin’ bogus?"

She thought a moment. "We’d have to sell the saloon. Who’s eager to buy?" She ticked them off. "Harry Gallagher. Cat DuBois. Jed Elliston? I don’t know. He loves the newspaper business. Cooper acts interested. I always assumed he was inquiring for Harry, but maybe not."

"Straight-and-narrow Cooper? He don’t seem the type to run a gin mill."

Inez stood and straightened her skirts. "At this point, no one is what they seem."
Not even you and Mark.

999

Downstairs, the saloon had opened for business. While Abe and Useless provided early arrivals with the means to toast the coming holiday, Doc swirled the brandy in his glass and meditated on the faceless mural.

"Magnificent, my dear." He wrinkled a smile at Inez. "Your artist," he indicated Llewellyn, who sat nearby devouring a bowl of Bridgette’s stew, "told me you’re selling spots in Elysium. As well as in the underworld. Of course, any battle, celestial or otherwise, should have a physician in attendance. How much to paint my visage on the fine fellow at the far right? And change his sword to a caduceus?"

Inez, bemused, examined the muscular physique of the warrior angel on the wall, so at odds with Doc’s stooped form. "So you’d like to be field physician to the Lord’s battalions? An eagle buys you immortality."

Doc dug out the ten-dollar gold piece and dropped it on the bar.

Inez pocketed the eagle and led the physician to Llewellyn’s table. "We have our first taker. Doc Cramer has chosen the angel on the far left, with a few modifications."

Llewellyn wiped his mustache on the sleeve of his painter’s smock and jumped up to shake Doc’s hand. It looked like a formal introduction between an aging Paul Bunyan and an elf. "You’ll not be disappointed." Llewellyn gestured to an empty chair and picked up a sketch pad. "I need a three-quarters view, so if you’ll turn your chair a bit to the left."

Doc adjusted his chair and bow tie, before raising his chin to strike what, Inez assumed, was supposed to be a heroic pose. Llewellyn sketched in rapid, flowing strokes. "A quick likeness now, and I’ll begin painting after Christmas. By New Year’s you’ll be in Paradise for a mere ten dollars."

Another gold coin arced through the air and plunked onto the table.

"Were it truly so easy to enter Heaven." The reverend smiled amiably at Doc and touched his hat in greeting to Inez.

Llewellyn froze in place, pencil stilled. "Talk to Mrs. Stannert if you want a spot in the mural, Reverend. She has final say on its design. I’m merely the artistic executor."

"Are you." The reverend regarded him with little warmth before grabbing a nearby chair, pulling it to the table, and straddling it. "How are those marriage certificates coming along? A crack engraver like yourself should have them done by now. Especially since the design is nothing new to you."

Llewellyn’s pencil point wavered above the paper. He stared at Sands, dislike and unease chasing across his face. "I warned you that I had other commissions before yours."

"So you said." Reverend Sands stood his ten-dollar gold piece on edge and gave it a spin. It gyrated merrily across the table. "It appears you’d rather be painting Mrs. Stannert’s epic picture."

What’s going on between these two?
Inez leaned over and stopped the spinning coin. "Reverend Sands, since you’re interested in being portrayed, do you choose to fight on behalf of darkness or light?"